AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A PENNSYLVANIAN
sassafras limbs as they leaned over the beautiful stream, when we were startled. In one corner lurked, unobserved, a huge black spider of abnormal proportions and hideousness. Suddenly darting from its hiding place, it ran for shelter under the clothing of the tallest of the ladies. With a scream she rose to her full height and struggled to get on the seat upon the far side. As the boat lurched the situation became dangerous.
“Sit down!” shouted my brother and I.
Reaching over among the timorous feet, John, with the utmost deliberateness, caught the horrible creature in his naked hand and calmly tossed it into the water.
“Vomen and spiders has no pusiness togedder in de same poat, and so I puts de spider in de grick,” he explained as we regained our poise.
Like some other people whom I have known, John has no great opinion of my horsemanship. To drive my carriage with me in it would be contrary to all his ideas of propriety, but he watches over me with tender care. His suggestions begin remotely and are hidden with delicate cleverness.
“De superfisors, dey don't know nossing apout de vay to ment roads. Dey chust dig out de gutters and drow de mud in de middle of de roat, and den ven it rains de mud all vashes back again and de ruts is deeper dan dey vas pefore, and if a fellow don't go ferry slow ofer dem ruts he preaks his vagon. Dere is vun of dem ruts now; chust look vonce and see vat goot diese superfisors pe.” And again: “Dat is a fery nice blace to hitch your horse, but de vlies is awful pad and ven de sun gets arount dere dey all comes out. Dat dree has more shade and is not so goot for de vlies.”
The wagon went slowly over the rut, and the horse was hitched to the tree.
On the 20th of March, 1909, in that marvel of rural energy and enterprise, Pennepacker and Bromer's store in
